Lord of London Town Page 21

  He pointed at Betsy’s face. “Bring that wankstain around here again and I’ll slit his fucking throat. You fucking know I’m not pissing about.”

  “You’re such a prick!” Betsy went to slice her hand across Eric’s face, but he caught her wrist in the air before she could. He slammed her to his chest, and Betsy spat in his face. “Get the fuck off me,” she said threateningly, under her breath.

  Eric laughed in her face, then released her wrist. “Bitch.”

  “The biggest,” Betsy shot back, then walked to her chair, leaving Eric glaring after her, seething. I caught her eye as she sat down, wanting to know if she was okay. Her smug smile told me she was more than okay; the subtle wink she threw me told me she, in fact, felt victorious.

  I had no idea what the hell had just happened.

  Arthur tapped my arm. I got up and we headed to Gene. Arthur embraced him. “Gene.”

  Gene gave him a timid hug back. “Artie.” Gene’s gaze moved to me again, and I smiled at him.

  I held out my hand. “Cheska,” Arthur said, but with no other introduction.

  “Lovely to meet you,” I said, and Gene slightly bowed his head.

  Eric held Gene’s shoulders again and steered him toward a three-seater sofa. Vera and Eric flanked his either side, like guards who had been charged with protecting their fragile twenty-year-old sibling. Gene didn’t speak, only nodded or shook his head in response to anything anyone asked him.

  Arthur pulled me down to his lap again, playing with a strand of my hair. His fingertips grazed the top of my spine and sent shivers ricocheting down my back.

  Ronnie arrived an hour later. She shook her head at Arthur, and I knew she had been doing something for him. It would have been something to do with the recent attacks on his drugs. And I knew she was still searching for any trace of my attackers, of those who had taken her. I still didn’t know the full story. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

  The night rolled on, and it wasn’t long before Gene asked to go home. He was staying with Eric. He seemed exhausted, circles darkening under his eyes. Vera and Ronnie left to settle in Gene too. Charlie and Betsy left shortly afterwards, leaving only a few of us in the room.

  “Grandma?” Arthur said. “You need a car?”

  “Soon.” She got to her feet. “I’m going to spend some time with my son first.” She breezed out of the room. Arthur had tensed as she said that, and I turned and studied him. There was no expression on his face. Only the slight tension in his body told me he’d had any kind of reaction to his grandma visiting his father.

  “I’m going to bed,” Freddie said, then stopped in front of me. “Eva’s bark’s worse than her bite,” he said. “She’s just protective of Golden Boy here.”

  “Fuck off,” Arthur said, but I caught the amusement in his gruff tone. Arthur’s arm around my waist tightened. “Night.” Freddie walked out of the room, leaving only us and Vinnie.

  “Pearl wants to know if you want another drink. Said she misses her brother,” Vinnie said, and I heard Arthur’s breath hitch at the mention of his sister. I frowned and slipped my hand down over his on my waist. I squeezed his hand. That seemed to ignite something in Arthur, and he stood, lifting me off the chair and placing my feet on the floor.

  “We’re going to bed,” he said.

  “Night night,” Vinnie said, his disturbing smile coming our way. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite!”

  Arthur pulled me toward his bedroom. The minute the door was shut, he pulled off his jacket and tossed it onto the nearby chair. The strange mood that he had been in for days and days still stuck to him like the smoke from his cigarettes.

  Then he turned on me, backing me against the wall. He wanted to fuck me. Fuck me the same way he always had. But I wanted something else. As he stepped toward me, I ducked away from him and walked into the en suite. I closed the door and changed into my purple silk nightgown. I could hear Arthur pacing the bedroom outside.

  When I opened the bathroom door, Arthur was sitting on the edge of the bed. Shirt off, only his trousers on, the fly already undone, that defined V leading the way underneath. “Get the fuck here, princess,” he said. I saw he was hard underneath his trousers. His face was flushed and his eyes were piercing as they fixed on me.

  He drank me in as I approached him. I stopped beside the bed and went to run my hands through his hair. He caught my wrist in his hand and pushed it straight down to his cock. “I don’t like to be kept waiting,” he said, and I caught the censure in his voice.

  I stroked over his trousers, along his length underneath. Arthur growled under his breath. Then I stopped and pulled back my hand. There were questions in his gaze. “You’ve been acting strangely,” I said and, this time, did rake my fingers through his hair. Arthur stilled beneath me. His hands ran up the side of my legs, up to my thighs, skimming over the purple silk to rest on my waist. I felt my nipples harden. “Tell me,” I said. His grip tightened in response. “What’s wrong?”

  “I want to fuck you, that’s what’s fucking wrong.” He yanked me closer. He wrapped his lips around my right nipple through my nightdress, and my eyes rolled back in my head at the feel. Pleasure fractured within me, sending warm currents of light through my body. Arthur moved his head to my other nipple, and I clenched my thighs together, my hands moving from his hair and down to his neck to feel his pulse. It was racing.

  He broke away from my breast and pulled down the straps of my nightdress. The silk slipped from my body and pooled on the floor. He pulled me closer again by my waist—aggressively, dominantly. I adored him this way. But this time … this time …

  “I want you to make love to me,” I whispered. Arthur stilled. He didn’t look up at me, though I knew he could feel my stare. With my hands on his cheeks, I guided his face to mine. His jaw was tight, eyes void of any emotion.

  “I fuck,” he said, his hand leaving my waist and dropping between my legs. He pressed his finger against my clit. I stopped his movements with a grip on his wrist, and he told me, “I fuck and you scream, and that’s how it is.”

  “And you fuck well,” I placated, pulling away his hand from me. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t make love to me too.” I saw a million thoughts run through his mind as his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed. A million different burdens tormenting him, his many demons trying to dissuade him from meeting my request.

  Dropping to my knees, I pulled the waist of his trousers apart and lovingly kissed along his lower stomach. Arthur hissed and his muscles tightened. My kisses were soft and sweet, and I tried to show him how much I cherished him. I ducked lower and lower until my lips kissed the bottom of his length. I looked up and saw him watching me. Watching me like I was an enigma, like he had never seen me before … like he had no idea what the hell to do with me.

  It occurred to me that he would never have made love. Arthur had just told me himself that he fucked. He fucked hard and well, but he had never made love.

  I sat back and ran my palms along his thighs. “I love you,” I whispered into the quiet room. “I love you, Arthur Adley.”

  Arthur growled and went to yank me to my feet. I took hold of his hands before he could reach me. He froze. I met his burning and confused gaze and brought a palm to my lips, pressing the softest and sweetest of kisses to the rough skin. I did the same with his other hand. I lowered them to my shoulders and began to pull down his trousers. Arthur was bared to me, and I smiled at his stoic face.

  Lowering my head, slow and steady, I brought his length to my lips. Arthur grunted as I swirled my tongue around the tip then took him inside my mouth. His hands left my shoulders and fixed on the side of my head. I expected him to be rough, to thrust inside my mouth and grip my face. But he didn’t. He let me take him as I wanted. And when I looked up, he was watching me. Watching me with a lost expression on his face. Gritting his teeth, skin flushed, but so, so out of his depth.

  This was as unsure as I believed Arthur could get. My heart shattered for him. H
ad he only ever believed that sex should be rough and casual? Had he never craved the deep, meaningful connection that I knew existed between soulmates? That I believed could exist between us?

  I got to my feet and pressed my hands on his hard chest. Arthur lay back on the bed, allowing me to take charge. I climbed over his muscled body, straddling his thighs, and I kissed him. I kissed him with a tenderness I knew he had never experienced. He kissed me back, and I wanted to cry at this man allowing me to take control.

  My tongue slid alongside his, caressing… just feeling and tasting and kissing. I pulled back and searched his face. I smiled, but something dark flashed across Arthur’s face and he growled and flipped me onto my back. He caged me in his arms and glared down at me like I was the worst kind of rival. His eyes grew wide under his glasses. They closed, and I could see movement under his eyelids. I knew he was fighting with himself, fighting back the demons that lived within his darkened soul. His muscles were tensed, and I could tell he was struggling to relax, to let go.

  To let us just be …

  “I love you,” I murmured again, and Arthur’s eyes snapped open. I’d noticed that every time I said it, it was as though he couldn’t believe it. As though he didn’t believe himself worthy … he didn’t believe himself loveable …

  I froze. That was it. That was why he only ever fucked. That was why he never showed a reaction to anything. He stayed hidden behind the safety of the high walls he had erected long ago because he didn’t think he was worthy of love.

  Arthur’s skin was clammy—the only tell that this was affecting him in any way. That this, my words of love and adoration, were breaking through thickened, battle-scarred skin.

  “I love you,” I said again, and he pulled back, sitting on his heels. He raked his hands through his hair, looking around the room as if he needed an escape, as if he needed to be anywhere but on this bed with me. As if he couldn’t stand to be told that he was loved.

  I got to my knees and met his eyes. His neck was corded with strain, and the veins in his defined muscles protruded through his skin.

  I cupped his face. He tried to pull away, but I held on tightly. He didn’t fight me as much as I’d feared. He grasped my wrists as if to throw me away. But instead his hands held me like a lifeline, the way Gene had gripped onto Charlie, as if he would plummet into freezing depths if he didn’t keep tight hold of me.

  I moved in slowly, kissing along his stubbled cheek until my lips met his. I kissed him. I kissed him softly, showing him the love I felt for him. The love I now knew he had been denied for so long. A love I knew he had no idea what to do with.

  I guided him on top of me as I lay back on the bed. He crawled above me, breathing heavily. I held Arthur’s face, then let him be the one to kiss me. He inched his face closer to mine, his breath stuttered and unsteady. Then his lips met mine, and he kissed me. He didn’t ravish me. He kissed me the way I’d always dreamed he could and someday would.

  And once he started, he didn’t stop. Arthur kissed my mouth; he kissed my neck and over my breasts. He kissed down my stomach and reached between my thighs. I widened my legs, and he dropped his head and licked along my core. My head rolled back as his tongue licked my clit, then down to my entrance.

  “Arthur,” I murmured, lost in the pleasure, lost in the gentleness, the softness. I stroked my fingers through his hair and looked down as he took me with his mouth. His hands were on my thighs, only moving to push a finger inside me. His tongue and finger worked me faster and faster until my back arched and I broke apart.

  I cried out into the room, the sound echoing off the old beamed ceilings. Arthur crawled above me. His eyes met mine as he slid inside me, as he hooked his arms under mine and filled me, chest to chest. He groaned, and the sound was a symphony in my ears as he thrust inside me at a steady, maddening pace. As I closed my eyes, tears pricked behind my lids.

  In all the years that he had come to me in Oxford, in all the nights since the pit, it had never been like this. It had never, ever been like this for me. And I knew it never would be again.

  I opened my eyes. He lifted his face from my neck and saw my tears fall. Arthur frowned, then licked at the falling tears as he increased his pace. He drove me slowly insane, gently pushing and pushing me until I tensed, then cried out in ecstasy as I came. I held on to him tightly as I melted against him. Arthur kissed me, then he stilled, groaning into my mouth as I swallowed the sound of his release.

  He fell forward, his head tucking into my neck, his lips kissing my damp skin. He stayed inside me, thrusting softly as our pleasure was wrung out. I ran my hands along his back and stroked his hot skin.

  Arthur lifted his head, then pulled out of me, bringing me to his chest. His heart was racing as I pressed my ear to his pecs. His breathing was heavy, and I wondered what he was thinking. I knew he wouldn’t tell me. At least, I knew I had to give him time to open up to me.

  But this, what we had just shared, was a start.

  We had just made love. Arthur had just made love to me. I never thought I would ever see the day when he let me in enough to have that.

  He thought himself dark. He thought himself untouchable and unloveable. To me he was anything but.

  I stared at the beams in the ceiling. His hand was entwined with mine. I felt him light a cigarette then smelled the smoke crawling around us. The white smoke billowed into the air above us, and I watched as it faded into nothing.

  My mind drifted to the conversations we had had. When Arthur had pushed me, trying to test me, to see if I would run away. If I would abandon him because of his life, because of what he had done—still did. If I would eventually shy away from the black hole and empty void that lived within him. If I would finally flee from the demons he fought daily and the ones he let take control of his soul.

  I wouldn’t. Holding him like this made it worth it. It made everything—all the good, the bad and the depraved—worth it.

  “There’s comfort in darkness,” I said, softly, so as not to disturb the aftermath of our first love-making. But Arthur tensed, and his hand tightened in mine. With my free hand I ran lazy circles on the back of his palm. “People are afraid of the dark.” I knew he was listening to every word I said by the way he held his breath. “But there’s solace to be found in darkness too.” I smiled as I saw the midnight sky through the skylight in the old ceiling. The stars and the moon hung just outside, illuminating us where we lay.

  “Like that,” I said, pointing at the sky. “We wouldn’t see the stars without the dark. The moon.” I turned my head to Arthur, to the scars on his torso—knife marks from his hard upbringing, from his many violent fights. Some, from the look of things, that had been close to being fatal. I kissed his biggest scar, then looked up at his watching gaze. “I’m not afraid of the dark, Arthur. I never have been.”

  He stared at me for so long I didn’t think he would give me a response. Then, “Good,” was all he said as I closed my eyes and felt him wrap around me, darkness and all.

  “Come on, princess. Wake up.”

  I blinked my eyes open. The room was still dark. But in the slither of light from the lamp on the bedside table, I saw Arthur. He was dressed and waiting for me. I realised he mustn’t have slept at all when I saw on the clock that only two hours had passed. “Get dressed.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked, rubbing sleep from my eyes as I kicked my legs off the side of the bed. Arthur’s nostrils flared at the sight of my naked body stretching, but he tossed some underwear, black leggings and his hoodie at me. I quickly dressed, smelling his scent on the hoodie as I pulled it over my head. I laughed when I looked down; the hem fell to my knees. Then my heart thudded erratically when I saw an amused smirk on Arthur’s mouth.

  He so rarely showed signs of joy that any mere hint of it was breathtaking.

  I slipped my feet into my trainers and took Arthur’s waiting hand. He pulled me from the room and straight out of the house. He unlocked a Range Rover, and I stood in
shock—there wasn’t a driver in the driver’s seat.

  “You’re driving?”

  “Shock horror,” he replied dryly. My chest warmed at the hint of good-humoured sarcasm in his response.

  I got in the passenger side, fighting my smile as Arthur pulled out onto the East End streets. I stared out at the houses and the closed pubs. It seemed like a different world to where I was from. Same city, completely different lives. But this one was fast becoming my new home.

  We arrived at the warehouse that held the underground fight club. I tensed, realising we were going down there again. But when Arthur led me to the steel doors and they opened, it was only us. I frowned, looking at the empty pits, the empty stalls and seats. It had been cleaned, fresh sand in the pit floors. All traces of blood gone, a heady stillness to the air in the underground room. As if nature knew it was a place of depravity, death and violence.

  “Why are we here, Arthur?” I asked, squeezing his hand.

  He led me to a back room. It was long and narrow, and at the end were some haybale targets. Arthur threw off his jacket; on the side of his chest was a gun in a holder. He came toward me and pulled out the gun. “You have to learn to shoot,” he said, and my stomach sank. I looked at the gun in his hand and recoiled. I’d never held a gun in my life.

  “Princess,” he said, voice laced with reproach. “I have a fucking massive target on my head.” Arthur seemed to lower his walls a fraction. “If you’re with me, if you stand by my fucking side, then there’s going to be a target on you too.” He pounded his chest with his palm, voice hardening and rising in volume. “People want to kill me. Many people. For revenge, power, drugs, docks, routes—you fucking name it. Wankers from all over want me dead for either what I’ve done or what I own. They’ll come for you.” His voice dripped with the inevitable promise of death. “Or at least they’ll fucking try.”

  He gripped my jaw in his hand. “The wolves at my door will now be at yours too.” He laughed, but it was humourless. “And they’ll want your blood. Because of me, they’ll want your blood.” I went to speak, but he promised, “And I won’t let that happen.” His voice cracked a fraction, and so did my heart. “I can’t fucking let that happen.”